


Finding Roots

by PlainPaper



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-04 06:43:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainPaper/pseuds/PlainPaper
Summary: Post Mockingjay.“I have done my part in your quest in toppling tyrants. Either let me live or kill this mocking jay, whose song once propelled this rebellion so far that we reach today.”





	1. One Last Speech

She listened as one side argue her sanity while the other deemed, she was fit, therefore she should answer for her crime of killing the wrong president. She listened; eyes glazed yet she nodded her head to no one’s benefit as she agreed to a few points made by both sides. But despite listening, following through the arguments back and forth, she still caught herself surprised when all eyes were trained on her as if waiting for her to defend herself. Eyebrows were raised, hers and the audiences’ too, perplexed at the impasse motioning through the court.

The smell of alcohol tinged the air she breathed in as her mentor leaned forward and nudged her elbow.

“Your turn.”

“To what?” she asked back, baffled with his instruction.

“Speak. Explain yourself.”

With those words, she finally took in the entirety of what laid in front of her. Rows of few familiar faces or what was left from the rebellion facing her. Faces she could attach a name to it and more she couldn’t. Plutarch caught her eyes and sent her a wink. Her eyes widen incredulously at the gesture but only for a second before she began to look for a familiar face she hoped she could see one last time no matter how this trial concluded. Her gaze instead rested upon a face she wished not to see; the doctor assigned to crack her deeper and named what caused her to react the way she did, resulting in this trial. She almost rolled her eyes and she swore she saw him picking up his darn notebook and scribbled something.

_He is not here. _

She couldn’t contain her disappointment and a small sigh followed, amplified with the presence of the microphone placed in front of her. Her temple throbbed from the weight of people’s expectations on her shoulder. A familiar, constant throb that threatened to split her skull open.

_I am not good at speech. He is. _

She wanted to dismiss her chance. Who cares how they intend to frame the trial? She did what she thought right and she stood by it, even when the rest failed to fathom it. Yet a realization crept in persistently, making its way from the depth of her mind until it was the only thing she could entertain. She had been used by too many sides, too many times. Letting them take away the only thing she had left - her sanity, could spell worse outcomes for other victors who survived this, and she could not allow such to happen.

_Not to him. _

_People shouldn’t question his sanity even when he is robbed by it. _

With that knowledge, she closed her eyes defeated and gathered the remnants of hers, preparing for her defense, word by word wound together in what she hoped succinct and enough.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am from District 12.” In which she received few chortles from the audience. She raised her eyebrows higher, daring them to continue and the sound died too quickly, swept to ashes by the girl who now carried so much fire within her, she supposed everything she touched would burn with her.

_Well isn’t that exactly what happened? _Her mind began to pull upon stacks of evidence from its archive, the latest would-be Prim but she shoved that thought far back in the corner of her mind.

_There is time to mourn and now is not it. _

Her hands pulled down between her legs, fingers pressed tightly, forcing herself to focus. Forcing herself to postpone dealing with her own pain for just a few more moments. She leaned forward, cleared her throat and began again.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.” A small pause as she remembered his advice way before when he was not yet broken – _Look at them, command their attention when you speak._ Her voice, brittle when she began, gained its strength as she continued what she hoped would be the last time she would be expected to address a crowd.

“I am as sane as what a person is permitted to, going through all these, humbling experiences. I am sane and I am aware of what I have done. I kill Alma Coin.”

Instantly audible mutterings could be heard from the raised platform in front of her. She raised one hand, and the room went silent. At the very least, people still would not dismiss her presence and for that, for this moment, she was thankful.

“It is easy to argue my sanity because I am never one with coherent thoughts processing, so to speak” She turned slightly to Haymitch and she could see him barely trying to cover his smirk, memories of him implying such to her popped up in his mind perhaps. She grinned too, wanting people to see that she was more than just a prop in this war. On her best days, she could, in fact, humor her own existence.

A slight jut of his chin turned her back to the crowd.

“The same way I cannot explain as to why I put the berries in my hands and his. The same way I cannot explain how I know exactly to blow off the arena with my arrow when I have been left clueless from the plan, due to me being the irrational one, as to quote my mentor here. But with the same faith you put in me, despite all that, rising me to be the voice of your rebellion, I urge you to trust me one more time -”

A deep breath, a final conviction, bereft of hesitation and any regrets.

“Coin will never be good for us. Different name, same games, if not worse.”

She wanted to explain more. The truth behind the final bombing that cinched the leverage to their side so much that there was no more resistance, all blame were immediately placed on Snow to pay with his life. She wished she could tell them how she was always at odds with Coin, how she suspected it was her that gave clearance to her little sister to be so far away from safety in her last attempt to destroy her and the image the rebellion itself had gifted upon her.

To just do everyone a final favor and die.

But it all felt too personal. Would have shown nothing but only how plausible it was that she would have done it simply out of her own thirst for vendetta.

She kept her mouth shut.

Her gaze fell into each of their faces; faces that were responsible for deciding her fate now. As her gaze swept the room, a shimmer caught her eyes from the far end of the room, behind them all, and she wondered if it was a hidden viewing area of the sort. She wondered if Finnick had been patched up enough for him to stand watching behind it. If Annie was by his side. If Johanna stood behind her decision. If _he_ was there too…

Watching and questioning each word tumbling from her lips.

“Do with me as you wish but do not take my sanity from me for, I have given my everything for this cause. _Everything_. Execute me for all I care but don’t tell me you don’t question her reign before it even begins. I will answer to my crime if such is the way this trial concludes it but please, leave the rest victors in peace.”

“I have done my part in your quest in toppling tyrants. Either let me live or kill this mocking jay, whose song once propelled this rebellion so far that we reach today.”


	2. Like Mentor Like Victor

“I don’t know girl. Sometimes, when the planets aligned, your speeches are…okay.”

Haymitch sat across the table as the carriage carrying them back to District 12 rumbled on its track, a minute sway only noticeable if one paid attention to it. In his hand a flask, an extension of himself with its odor strong enough to choke her. Katniss quickly covered the purple pill she had been toying with for the last half an hour under her palm, her back rigid, fighting the movement of the train.

Her trial declared her a hero through and through; saving Panem from another war before it even began. She marveled at how easy it was to frame the public’s opinion, directing them to what deemed as the truth. It frightened her to the core. How could she not, when she had unknowingly offered a spark to begin a game much worse than the ones she had played?

Her head hung down, not looking at her mentor while her mind kept chanting to herself,

_Go away. Go away. Go away. _

Was it meant for the ghosts of those who had fallen or was it meant for Haymitch? She couldn’t be sure anymore.

He took another swig from his flask, eyeing the small hill of her palm. With his hand not letting go of the metal container, he tapped her hands, pushing roughly against them, trying to pry open the little treasure she kept hidden inside.

“What’s this?” his voice was keen to know. At such inquiry she forced her head up, her gaze filled with rage for him, for herself, for Snow, for Gale, for Peeta. For everyone and no one, simultaneously, for failing to save her Prim. _My Prim._ Her lips pursed into a thin line as the fire within her begged to be doused with water, for it to end.

_If I want death so much why I resist it when it was offered oh so generously? _

She freed the little pill, and it tumbled from the clasp of her fingers, made its way across the table to land peacefully against Haymitch’s wrist.

His first impulse was to smash the poor pill to dust, cracking it under the heel of his flask, banging the table few more times for good measure.

“Where did you get that?” He failed to cover the growing concern in his voice.

She shrugged her shoulder, eyes trained on the purple dust on the table. “I’m a gatherer.” She pulled two more pills from her right sleeve, five more from the pockets of her pants. She pulled her feet up against her chest and pried one from each boot.

“I gather.”

The pills began to roll across the table and Haymitch struggled to catch them all before he lost sight of any. He picked each, his head shaking disapprovingly before he unlatched the small opening on the window and threw it all outside.

Standing at the edge of the table, ready to leave her to stew in her own rage he stopped himself short. “You are a coward.” He hissed at her.

She snapped her head to look at him directly in the eyes before she spat back, “I am everything but a coward!”

“No, you are.”

A pause. As if waiting for her rebuttal. But she had none left inside her.

“A coward. Just like me.” The recognition reflected in his eyes was too much. Too blinding. Too obvious as it was too familiar. She had to turn away, hunching under the glaring truth. His softened gaze slapped her further back to her seat. She couldn’t stand pity. She couldn’t bear with people offering her an understanding.

_I don’t deserve any. _

“If you truly want it you would have swallowed it.” His voice turned down a notch, stating what she had always known.

Silence fell between the two breathing reminders of the previous regime. He scooted next to her. Too close and she pressed herself harder against the cold wall.

“You still want to live.”

“No, I don-“

“You do.” He cut her off. Might as well since those words sound unconvincing even to her own ears. Her scars from the second explosion began to sting, marking the needs for her to reapply another generous layer of salve onto patches sewn to replace her charred skin.

_The Girl on Fire burnt in the end... _

“And this time I’ll honor my promise to that boy.”

She leaned her head against the rattling window, eyes closed as she tried to contain the bubbling, murky lava within her making its way up, climbing her throat. “It was your promise to _me _that you should have honored back then.”

“Do not make it hard for me sweetheart. Just wait for the boy to come home.” He patted her head and she slapped it away from her, harsh.

A grunt. A short muttering. The seat losing its dent from the shift of his weight to his own legs.

“If I snort what’s left on the table I would still die right?” her finger pointed to the purple dust still visible on the table.

Haymitch was quick to wipe it clean with his palm. Katniss closed her eyes and started banging her head harder against the window.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“The train never stop….”

“No, it doesn’t sweetheart.”

\----------

He thought she was doing good the first few weeks. She stuck to a routine. Woke up every morning, never skipping her meals despite forcing only two to four bites from her plate. He stopped every now and then – her stunt in the train forced him to make the effort. From the looks of it she appeared to be taking good care of herself; showering twice daily, proven by her almost always wet hair whenever he came by for breakfast and dinner. She took naps. Lots of them and as compared to his coping method, it was harmless. Granted, he never heard her speaking anymore. Panem’s revered Mockingjay had refused to sing – a mute Mockingjay.

Except when night arrived and all hell she has kept bottled during the day came cloaking all over her full force…Victor’s Village trembled with ear-piercing wails that reminded all of what they had lost in the war.

_But it is normal, isn’t it? Kid needs time to digest all the…. experiences. _He thought to himself as he opened the door to her house for yet another too quiet dinner session. He bade Greasy Sae goodbye after a sloppy thanks for the meal in which she sent him a murderous glare as if he was not trying hard enough as a mentor to fix his broken victor.

As if he was not thoroughly broken himself.

\----------

He wasn’t supposed to see it – she had learned to cover it well. But it took strenuous effort to not slip and that particular night, she wasn’t careful enough.

Usually, she would wait until he was out of the door to clean up. But that night she began early, picking up his plate not a second after he shoved in the final bite. He glared at her, but she took no notice of it, heading straight to the sink. He followed behind, ready to put an end to this whole shutting up thing when she raised her sleeves up to her elbow, showcasing marred skin. Straight gashes filing in the lengths of both arms. Few still raw and threatening to bleed.

His gaze quickly directed to her wrists and he was glad to see they were both free from scars.

“That’s one way to cope. Make me wished I had introduced you to drinking instead. Less mess.”

She didn’t exactly say it, just a prolonged stare towards the direction of his house from the window above the sink, as if reminding him to reflect on the state of his own house.

“Fine. Mine’s messier.”

He stood next to her, turning on the tap, nudging her away and began to rinse the plates.

“Why though?” his eyes focused on the task at hands, but his ears perked, waiting if he could coax an answer from her. 

“I need to feel the pain. A tether, some sort.”

Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

Haymitch mumbled his disapproval before he settled with a gentle reminder.

“Nothing too deep alright?”

“Hmmph…”

He couldn’t help but hope for the boy’s speedy return. The boy would know his way around the girl when he himself was already at the end of his tethers.

\----------

The old mentor had to make his way to Peeta’s house – the telephone in his house he had yanked free from the wall. He stumbles twice. Victor’s Village, despite being left untouched, still suffered from a shortage of electricity. The lights failed to do its only job of freaking lighting the damn path. His breaths labored as he stomped his way to make that phone call. His initial plan for his own life after the war, heck, after his games, after his family was not spared was simple; drink himself to stupor.

He could have ignored and let the girl succumbed. But he had finally found himself with not one but two Victors and now he finally saw the appeal of being a Mentor, even going as much as embracing the job scope of being one; keep your tribute alive.

He struggled a bit to dial the numbers – being sober made him realized how much he had aged. His sight was terrible, his fingers had this tremor he couldn’t rid off but he had made it this far, so he settled with few expletives as he dialed Plutarch’s number.

“I’m calling in for a favor. Isn’t there some sort of archive in the Capitol where everything before everything is kept? Wonder if you could get songs for the girl.” He didn’t even bother with greetings.

Plutarch mumbled something but Haymitch was quick to dismiss it.

“Arghhh, come on…she’s drowning alright. Just give the damn Mockingjay some new songs to sing.”

A scream from her house felt like a whip to his eardrums.

He tapped his foot as he listened to the other’s response.

“And not the shitty ones played for the public in Capitol. Real songs. With depth.”

Plutarch chuckled at his jab before proceeding to remind him that each era had its own fair share of shitty songs. 

He ended the phone call just as abruptly. If in two weeks he received nothing, he had made his mind up to harass Beetee next. 

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. A Too Soon Concluded Chapter

She ran.

From the haunting memories turned to flesh, inching to dig its teeth into her body.

The blood must have sent it to a craze as if it did not yet have enough of it the first time its claws cut through the side of her face.

It was a mistake. Hunting too soon when her senses were made dulled from all the pain. 

And now she was the one hunted by the wolf, and she prayed, even when the concept of deity was foreign.

She ran, even when her chest threatened to explode.

Even when her body leaked the very fuel pumping through her veins.

She ran.

Because this was the one pace she was awfully familiar with. 

\----------

Haymitch opened his eyes drowsily, one hand pushing his hair back while the other knocked down another bottle now joining its comrades, strewn all over the floor.

_Your house is filthy Haymitch. _

He chuckled at the familiar comment. But this one was old; said before she was chucked into another game. The present her had apparently managed to disconnect her thoughts from her lips – lips turned thin most of the time, only her glares betraying her every now and then and even then there was a certain softness behind it. Reserved only for him.

Sometimes for that cursed cat too. Whenever it came for a visit.

_Oh, sweetheart. To only have me in your life. What a fucked-up arrangement. _

He flung a glance towards the windows, trying to gauge the time of the day.

_Huh, still early._ He wondered what could have woken him from his stupor – he only woke up for dinner most of the time or at least he tried to - it was the only time he was allowed to check on her.

Firm knocks on his door stopped his hand from reaching out for another bottle. His shoulder turned stiff.

Katniss never knocked. Never came anyway. All holed up in her house with her ghosts. He stood, taking his time to straighten his back before he dragged his feet to the door, opening it only to reveal nothing.

He was about to retreat when the smell of fresh bread hit him.

Instead of looking down to his feet he immediately flung his gaze far, searching for the boy. He was almost to his door, his once broad now a sunken frame, courtesy of Capitol’s grim clasps.

Relief flooded him, followed by an attempt to cover the distance between them. But all of the sudden the boy turned too still, too stiff, staring hard at something he could not yet see. Haymitch quickened his pace, not quite running but the moment his vision was in line with Peeta’s, he faltered.

Katniss was standing, no, shaking. One hand grasping her bow tight, the other tried to cover the bleeding gash on her face – failing gloriously to do so, yet her lips were pulled upwards towards the boy.

A smile.

_You stupid girl…_

Haymitch was about to yell something inappropriate. Something along the line _Your lover boy is back!, _probably after he had made sure she was not dying from whatever that caused her to bleed so early in the morning.

_But, again, she smiles…_

_Can’t be that bad, isn’t it?_

He returned her careless victor’s smile, shaking his head at her absurdity and the clear relief he could almost taste having them both here again. Peeta’s presence must have numbed her pain so much but he felt the strong urge to chastise her if that was what it took to return a sense of normalcy for all of them. Moving past Peeta, he now stood between his two victors, facing her. “What the hell happ-“,

“MUTTTTT!!!!!”

Peeta’s scream drowned his question. Haymitch saw how she reacted; smile turned to frown, her free hand was quick to reach her quiver, searching for an arrow to silence his other victor.

_Peeta had hurt her once, this was just her protecting herself. _

Horror blanketed him whole, turning his head just in time to watch Peeta running full force towards Katniss. His eyes wild, hands extended, also an attempt to protect himself from the threat.

_Oh shit._

Haymitch threw himself onto the boy, pulling his arms close to his side, shifting his total weight on top of him. The boy tried to break free, but Haymitch’s grip was binding, leaving him to spit words once fed by the Capitol, over and over. Struggling to keep his hold, he lifted his gaze, yelling at Katniss whose stance did not waiver, arms still raised, her weapon still pointed at the lover boy.

Haymitch spat at her, angry not at her reaction but at how very wrong things turned out to be. “You want to die at his hands?! Go!”

Her weapon thrown to the ground unceremoniously, as she walked calmly back to her house.

Door closed.

Locked. 

\----------

She stood in her bathroom, facing the wall, watching her blood swirled into the drain. This was not new. Usually, she bled from her own doing, this time around it just so happened she was not the perpetrator. The warm water soothed her aching joints, clearing her mind, leaving it empty to mull over Peeta’s words again and again.

_The blood must have triggered him. _

_And the bow. _

_And the smile. Me, simply following my instinct. _

_Me. _

She squatted down, elbows resting over her knees, her hands covering her face, feeling the pitter-patter of the steady stream of water on her back. There was no point pretending that things would work out between them. Not after what had happened today. Not after how quick she raised her weapon towards him.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me.” She spat out the words angrily to no one.

She was so ready to die back then. But he stopped her. That had been the thin string of hope she held on all these whiles as she waited for his return.

_A string too thin, too brittle, would never, could never promise much. _

\----------

Days turned weeks. New routines established, no, forced by Haymitch. But Peeta knew anyway. Part of him remembered. There was no familiarity, no shared habits, no nothing.

Katniss had kept her mouth shut. Peeta was too ready to snap even by her mere presence. The rage he swore he had traced back its authenticity with Doctor Aurelius all bubbling too close to the surface now. All progress made undone by the sight of Katniss on that fateful day. 

They ate together, shared their meals in her house before the two head back to their own.

No healing as he fell deeper into the intricate web of lies he was force-fed with.

\----------

“Fine! Say it!” she slammed her fork on the table before she pushed her chair back, making room so she could fold her hands in front of her chest. She had tried her best to make it easier for Peeta. She kept quiet. She stayed far, in her room watching him taking walks at night as he tried to reign in his scrambled memories.

She offered him space.

But he was so…angry at her. All the time. She could sense words behind his teeth, threatening to spill yet each time she returned his gaze he looked away, shaking his head.

Haymitch rolled his eyes at this sudden outburst, chewing the last bite of his food as he looked at the two.

_Well, at least this is progress. _

Peeta’s gaze darted at Haymitch, who was taking a long sip of what certainly couldn’t pass as just coffee. The old mentor shook his head languidly, denying the boy’s unspoken request to be left alone with her.

Peeta took a deep breath - an opportunity had been given and he would not squander it. He needed answers. Answers to the questions he was told only Katniss could offer.

“How is it possible?”

“What?”

“Me, loving you. Loving you so much when there is nothing good coming from you?”

His words stung. He barely began but Katniss had regretted giving him an opening. He was saying words she had been telling herself over and over. She could never understand his devotion before everything, his readiness to give up everything for her. Haymitch even told her straight up that she could live a hundred lifetimes, and still she would never deserve such love from him.

But hearing such truth coming out from him shattered what was left of her last hope of…._ them._

“Nothing? Really?”

Her voice meek, wanting to mock him but it came out so weak.

So pathetic.

Meanwhile, Peeta was full of resolution. _Has he practiced for this very moment?_ Katniss was left to wonder as she listened to his tirade. “You are selfish. It is one thing rising to be a hero and wanting to save everyone, but you? You only want to go home. You only want to save your family. What about my family? Should everyone else burn just to keep you warm?!”

Katniss’s lips twitch. She had her fair share of loss too.

She slammed her right fist on the table, half standing, trying to drive her point directly into his skull if possible.

“What family?! Haymitch? The cat? You who call me mutt each time?!”

“You still have your Mother.” His voice was resentful.

Bitter.

Jealous.

Moments passed between them. Silence. Haymitch waited for her to respond. She could feel him expecting her to summon that voice, that ability to speak eloquently, skill much needed back then, during the war. A skill, if honestly, she had actually possessed she had last put to use during her trial.

_I can’t… _

As much as she understood where Peeta was coming from, of the pain inflicted on him that she would never dare to question, she could no longer remain rational. She had lost it.

She too knew how to hurt with words.

A forced chuckle, tilted smile before she spoke between her teeth, “Oh well, is she here? Why do you care? Last I saw yours she beat you inches from death for no reason.”

Peeta looked satisfied as if she had provided enough proof that he could have never, _ever_ fallen in love with such an awful being.

While Haymitch’s eyes widen from shock, her sheer audacity.

“Whoa…. whoa… time out!” He stood between them, his arms stretched, a pitiful shield but the one he could afford at the moment.

“Now, I know you both went through a lot. But let us try to be civil despite the bad blood and the hormones and altered memories. Is that doable?”

He waited for their replies. Peeta settled on his seat. Waiting.

Katniss was still standing, leaning her weight on her fists placed against the table, eyes closed mulling over the unavoidable end.

She could live with his hatred. She could be that one neighbor he would love to kill. She would grasp any sliver of emotion as long as it connected her to him.

She could, more than capable to be selfish and continue to hurt them both. As long as they were in the same hell.

Sharing the same experience.

But as she pushed her knuckles firmly against the wooden surface, putting her weight on her two hands, thinking, mulling over everything that had happened, that would happen, she knew that this, whatever this was, could never be the way. One of them deserved to start anew.

She would be fine to be the one left behind this time.

Sitting down, she stole a long breath, knowing that this was the right thing to do. A sense of clarity, despite being feeble swooped in, covering her in the coldness, not from the weather. 

_For him._

_ I am doing this for him. _

“Is seeing me, hurting you, Peeta?” A change of tone, calm, almost as if she were mirroring the dead President Coin.

Without missing a beat, he answered her with a resounding yes.

“I couldn’t tell what’s real or not when it comes to us.” His voice almost childlike, pleading. A first. 

“Perhaps..." she paused, she was so sure a moment before - how quick it was to have a change of heart. Yet she chose not to heed her heart this time. "...perhaps, you should stop.” She finally gathered enough courage to look at him directly. Taking in his still too hollow cheeks, lines permanently etched at the corner of his eyes and forehead before she stared into his eyes, finally noticing how they carried no warmth as before. Without thinking, her right hand moved, trying to cover the most recent gash on the side of her face. 

“If it is too painful…. maybe it’s just not worth it.” A genuine smile for him, one she hoped he would not be offended with. One that would not trigger him to another violent episode. 

Peeta was taken aback. “Are you not mad? If I let you go?

She flinched. Head cocked to one side, trying to hide the pain gnawing much harsher from within.

“Haymitch once said I could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve you. Maybe, for once, he’s right.”

“I had loved you so much… I must have, didn't I? ”

_Had. _

_Had_.

She refused to interpret the look on Haymitch’s face.

“But Dr. Aurelius said I should remember. In order to heal, I have to.”

“I am no professional, but I can tell you no. You don’t have to remember.”

“But...”

“You fancied me since you were a boy.” Katniss cut him. Her tone forced at first, brimming with pain before she slowed down, carefully summarising their straightforward yet now made complicated by Capitol. “You saved me with the bread because you are good, you are kind, and I will forever be thankful for it. We did fall in love, out of fear. Out of circumstances forced upon us. _Forged within the crucible of the games,_ Effie wrote that in the cards. I guess it is true. To a certain degree, it is true. We learn quickly to…protect each other. Because we share the same horr...”

“You don’t know the horror I went through in Capitol. For _you_.” 

“I don’t. And I won’t ask you to relive it.”

“You were so ready to kill me.”

_You called me a mutt. You choke me. You almost killed me. _

“I did. I took the stance; you made the move.” In which she realized what a broken pair they would make.

“I didn’t kill your family out of spite. I did not kill them. I never want to see you hurt. I wish it were you they saved, not me.”

“Really?”

Haymitch finally turned his gaze towards Peeta, assuming that perhaps, if the confirmation came from a different set of lips, it would bear some weight in that scrambled mind of his.

“She did.”

_\---_

He had once wished for this version of Katniss. Super rational and as hard as diamonds. A persona much needed on and off-screen. A much more reliable figure, not as volatile as what they were forced to work with. But now that she was here, finally, he did not like it. Not one bit. He wished to have that irrational, yelling Katniss who did not shy away from shoving him back to his place. He wished to have that rude sixteen years old girl back with fire in her eyes instead of blankness so apparent.

Peeta had left. There was no need to wrap up the conversation. It was done. The boy would have clung because he wanted to understand, she would have clung because he was all she had left.

Miserable star-crossed lovers they would have been.

Instead, she set him free.

Haymitch wondered if she would set herself free too as he scrubbed the stubborn clumps of gravy from the plates before it dawned to him that he had yet to see her shed any tears since she lost her sister.

Too blinding the similarities between the victor and the mentor.

He tsked disapprovingly to no one in particular, passing the newly rinsed plate to Katniss, who, instead of drying it, simply proceed to stack it with the unused ones. He noticed how her hands tremble; must have been hard to contain all those emotions in such a frail frame. 

Drying his hands on the towel before he chucked it straight into the sink, he squared himself up, trying to say something nice.

“I take it back. You are a good girl. You deserve him and so much more.”

He watched her fingers gripping the knob to the drawer tighter, shoulders hunched over, the tremor still present, half-expecting her to slam it shut. But she didn’t.

A whisper, barely audible.

“Haymitch. Don’t.”

\-----

For her, letting him go was not freeing. For him, sure. Hopefully. That was what she intended for. For her? She waited for that sensation, for the guilt no longer shackling her feet, yet it came not. If more so it felt as if the weight expands gargantuanly, dragging her whole weight down. She felt as if she was drowning, pulled into the depth of the ocean before she was entombed amongst the dead on the bottom of the sea.

As she should had, the moment she entered the second arena.

___

She left the next morning.

Heart heavy, bleeding.

In order to be left behind, she had to move first.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It sure is scary, updating after months of not doing so. I am alright, in case anyone worries 'is she dead? she hasn't updated her stories for so long'. Sorry, my dear readers, a lot is happening in the world, a lot is happening in this house. My country is experiencing the third wave of COVID and it is looking bad. I am trying to cheer myself up by updating but oh boy when you have not been writing for quite some time, it is awkward, everything sounds off but here I am trying to do it still. Hopefully, it will be much better in the coming chapters. 
> 
> Hoping that everyone is coping well too. Take care, stay safe.


	4. Losing; For Him, For Her.

**District 4.**

“What could have caused it?” Finnick could not believe how quick joy could be extinguished. One would think he should have gotten used to it by now, being a Victor, yet to have it happened naturally; not being orchestrated by Capitol, was something new in this world freshly released from its shackles.

He threw his gaze, bursting with concern towards his wife who was still unconscious on the bed. The lack of colors, the pungent, metallic smell of disinfectant specially reserved for hospitals, and District 13 were enough to drive him up to the walls but he needed to be strong for his wife.

For them.

“Number of reasons. Weak cervix, trauma, chromosomal abnormality…” the doctor continued listing words he could not understand as his thoughts scattered back to mere hours before- a tub overflowing with water mixed with blood, his wife screaming for him. When the doctor finally stopped, perchance realizing that there was no use in trying to explain things that at times simply happened, particularly when the other was still trying to make sense of the loss. What was much more needed to be heard was whether or not it could have been prevented, 

_Whether I could have done a better job of protecting my family._

_Did I do this?!_

"It has nothing to do with neglect from either of you. Sometimes, it simply happens.”

_Funny how sometimes always applied to us somehow. _

Finnick turned his body facing Annie, the two of them separated by the glass. He ran his fingers through his hair, almost yanking them free, his right palm pressed against the glass, trying to steady himself.

“Finnick, if I may..”

_No, you may not. _

“Losing a child is a pain experienced much differently to mothers. Guilt would be at the forefront of other emotions. Some…. succumb to it...”

_Don’t say it……don’t say it….._

Even now, even when he was overwhelmed, he knew this man meant well. The doctor had been honest through and through, pulling him aside when they first received the news that they were expecting, explaining that the journey could be even more challenging for the two of them who had been dragged to hell back and forth – Panem’s citizens being their witnesses. He had offered support and guidance and Finnick was thankful for each advice. But things had been smooth sailing for_ this_ to happen.

“and Annie is…..” the doctor’s voice was lagging, suggesting.

Finnick snapped. He needed not reminder how broken Annie was, he knew, he accepted her, all of her. Between them both, he had always known it was him that needed her to survive. Quickly he filled the air with a thick, unchallenged defense, “_Annie_. I am her husband. I, know best how to care for her.” Now fully depleted, he left the doctor in a hurry as anger began to sink in, stirred unceremoniously with hopelessness -a concoction he had been forced fed for almost his entire life. He thought they were free of despair, that the worst had come and gone and the world owed them at least this much of happiness and he was beyond prepared to claim each sliver of it.

Closing the door behind him before sinking into the chair next to her bed, he grasped Annie’s hand firmly, trying to anchor his own existence to something, anything after being made numb from the loss of their child.

They had wanted to name her Josephine.

\-----

**Capitol.**

“Wake up Mockingjay.”

Katniss was startled to hear Plutarch’s voice. She grudgingly opened her eyes, expecting to be assaulted by the strong rays of sunlight but instead, she caught a whiff of the strong, sickeningly sweet scent, awfully familiar to the people from Capitol. She turned, and immediately backed even further against the window, feeling trapped as she realized how closed he had been sitting.

Plutarch seemed to sense her discomfort. He peeled her flimsy backpack from the ground and placed it neatly between them. The move eased Katniss from the window, and colors returned to her pale skin and it made her looked a little bit welcoming to his presence. He laughed, out of nowhere, trying to invite familiarity that was non-existent between them.

Katniss stared at him, wondering how long she had left the Capitol to have Plutarch back to his old self – different than the thinning Gamemaker stuck in the rigid District 13.

Plutarch patted his protruding belly; Katniss was indeed never good at hiding her thoughts.

“Forgive me. Despite the food in Capitol being... not as lavish as before, after 13, I do indulge myself a bit.”

As she took in all of his appearances, she caught a constant humming sound in the air rumbling incessantly, making it hard for her to think.

“What is that?” She wondered out loud. 

“What is what?”

“The humming, that annoying buzz…sound…” she looked around, trying to find the source.

“I don’t hear anything Katniss.”

She glanced at him, taking in his nonchalant answer, and realized the sound was exclusively reserved for her, baffling her even more. She rubbed her face, massaging her temple, wishing it to go away. The harder she pressed her fingers against her forehead, the stronger the throbbing became, so she stopped. 

Haymitch was never one to prolong a conversation with her, knowing how futile it was. Might as well pry her lips and played ventriloquist with her empty being. Fed her with a script and now,_ now_ she would have welcomed it without question.

“I am beginning to think it is still too much, considering how thin you are.” Plutarch tried to continue the conversation on a much lighter note, skipping the confusing part but it served only to stiffen the exchanges between them. 

Katniss pulled her leather jacket tighter around her body, in doing so, only highlighted what she wished to conceal. His observation was not welcomed, never welcomed for someone from Capitol. He continues to fill the stretching silence anyway, not needing her to carry the other end of the conversation.

“And is that a new gash on your face?” he pointed to her new scar which was indeed healing slower than it was supposed to. “Surely hunting is more of a hobby instead of a necessity? Or have we already begun repeating our mistakes?”

There was a valid concern there lying thickly underneath his words. Making her felt the need to offer more than simply shaking her head no.

“No. People are thriving. This, just me.” only now realizing how hoarse her voice was to her own ears. Clearly, Plutarch felt the same as he no longer upheld his end in the conversation, wanting her to move it forward, to speak more.

She cleared her throat, hoping to clear her mind and failing in the same breath.

“Where are we?”

“Underground.”

“No one wakes me up.”

“They tried. You won’t budge.” To which Katniss could not cover her surprise. _Sleeping so soundly? On the train of all places?_

“And they sent for you?”

“Not entirely, but sure, let us stick to that conclusion.” Not truly satisfied but no longer interested, she kept her mouth shut, leaving the conversation to die on its own.

Plutarch rummaged through his jacket, his hand lost deep inside the inner pocket before he pulled out a small black box, looking tiny in his grasp. 

“Here.” He pulled down the tray attached to the back of the seat in front of her, placing the box right in the middle of it.

She picked it up, opening it to discover a sleek, small device no bigger than her palm. She pried it free, watching it reflected the light on its surface, careful not to catch her own reflection on it.

“Haymitch,” Plutarch announced. He held his palm open, and she placed it on his hand, her curiosity was piqued.

“This consists of all songs and recordings of sounds from before. Beetee works his magic to restore everything but of course, it is not accessible to the masses. In future perhaps, but best not to overwhelmed recovering citizens on how much they have been denied with.”

Katniss scoffed yet he proceeded to show her how to use it, lifting what she thought was the base of the box to revealed what he called earbuds, two pairs of them.

“A set for you and another for….” He let his sentence hang.

Katniss wondered how much Haymitch had told him, or anyone.

“Well, he asked for this way before Dr. Aurelius allowed Peet-” he stopped himself, trying to rectify his mistake. “…erm, _the other Victor_ to go home.” He gestured for her to pick up a pair, to place them in her ears. She did it hesitantly, not quite sure but anything, anything that could silence the stupid humming in her head.

He pressed play, and she was offered with a melody so foreign yet soft and lulling. She took the device from Plutarch's hand and begun scrolling mindlessly.

“To quote Haymitch, songs with depths, not the silly ones the Capitol is known for.”

No longer attuned to his voice, she pressed on a song entitled _Rain_, wondering what it could be, all while following Plutarch from behind as he led her away from the train. She could see his lips moving, so she increased the volume even more, pleasantly surprised to have her head filled with the pitter-patter of rain and the occasional thunder – a recording of nature, reminding her of the home she had left behind.

But the buzzing was still there.

_Listening at high volume for a long time can cause tinnitus (ringing in your ear) and irreversible hearing loss._

She read the warning flashing on the screen and decided to disregard it. She closed her eyes, pretended the buzzing was from the bees, trapped in her skull because it was raining outside.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! Hopefully, everyone is doing well and surviving. Treat yourself with something sweet, or salty, or both (though I don't actually get the buzz behind salted caramel but hey, to each his own.) I sign up for a fiction writing class and it is an exciting thing for me because this is something I do for myself. And it feels nice to be able to do so and to have the courage to commit to sth other than my family. 
> 
> Have a good day everyone! 
> 
> *I am currently on the second partial lockdown/restricted movement control order. I can't go out. So if you still can, I envy you. A bit. Stay safe and wear protection! (Mask, I mean mask)


	5. Bury it deep it will hurt me less.

She had stopped slicing her skin open nowadays.

A lie.

Not as frequent was more likely.

For every time the urge arose, when nightmares returned in the form of Prim burnt to ashes, of Cinna beaten to a pulp, of sunken cheeks paired with hollowed eyes belonged to _him_, her own screaming waking her up, heart pounding violently, instead of reaching for her blade as she would most of the time, now she had a second option of immediately seeking comforts buried between the rows and rows of books with shelves reaching the sky-high ceiling.

Plutarch offered her a sanctuary in the best-kept secret in the Capitol.

A library.

But the hum was omnipresent. She found a way to deal with it, shoving her earpieces deeper, blaring songs into her skull.

Not that the song made sense - she couldn’t enjoy it, couldn’t listen to any lyrics at that volume she blasted it in.

As much as she complained about the constant hum, it got too quiet at times, even when she convinced herself that she was fine being left alone. Not that the library was never graced by the presence of others; she saw Commander Paylor, no, President Paylor once. Cressida, three times with the most recent one she swore she saw her winked at her. Plutarch, almost always. She would humor him with a brief chat once every five attempts he made to engage her in a conversation. She did not mind him that much; most of the time he simply filled her in with what happened outside. She had hoped for Haymitch but to no avail. Out of many, the one presence she detested the most was Dr. Aurelius himself. Watching her from afar not even trying to hide his blatant observation. She kept to herself but on the rare occurrence when she needed a reminder that she was not alone, she would shuffle her way to the counter close to the entrance, counting on the presence of the Avox assigned to guard this place.

_A librarian_, he wrote for her on a piece of paper one fine day.

_Sounds powerful_, she wrote back, earning her a hint of blush on his waxy, pale skin bereft of sunlight for so many years.

\--

In her small dark room hidden behind the last row of books, her door slightly ajar to allow the light from the outside to seep through, she picked up her bag, placing it at the edge of her bed. Methodically, she began to collect all her possessions, the very few of them: three pairs of trousers, three pairs of turtlenecks, her delicates, toiletries, and two massive tubes of cooling gel for her still stinging burns. Not to forget her precious journal, leatherbound, filled with scribbles of random sentences from books she had read, of poems she had found its beauty calling for her between pages.

This was her routine each night, preparing for the constantly delayed departure the next morning. Here, far from the healing world, she could pretend she was safe from her own demons. She could stall dealing with them a tad longer.

She could be stagnant in this library, neither here nor there. A limbo. Some might say she was a coward. She preferred to call it an approach to keep her sanity. Packing her things before she slept, unpacking them when she was up, always ready to flee, but never truly left.

Flipping through her journal, she knew she could trace all of them if she so much as allowed it; the roots of her issues yet she buried them all beneath words she borrowed from others.

For she still called out to _him_.

Her lips still remembered the taste of his back then, even when it was tainted with desperation.

And each time she found herself drowning in the memories of him, _him_ before the altered memories, her sister would come with vengeance, drenched in the fire, whispering to her,

_“Why don’t you save me Katniss?” _

She scrambled for her songs then, drowning the screams of jabber jays in the second arena, trapped in that very section again and again – the hour was never up. Body shaking, lips bleeding from holding back her screams, her head almost split open from the headache, covering herself with her blanket, whispering apologies to Prim, and wondering how, how it would end for her.

And the librarian always hovered outside.

Never crossing in.

\--

Plutarch came today.

And settled for a lecture.

She rolled her eyes, he rambled on besides her as she walked on the aisle between the shelves - of the pretty things outside, how they had managed to clean almost every traces of war, at least in the Capitol and how wonderful it would be if only she chose not to waste her time buried in books, buried so far underground. She picked a random book from the shelf and settled on the nearest reading nook.

Flipping the book to see the title - _The Picture of Dorian Gray, _she noticed him following her still, taking a seat adjacent to hers, hands wild as he described something about retaliations, divided loyalty to deceased leaders. She shunned the details out – she had nothing to offer anymore. She did what she did best.

Ignoring him.

But when she noticed the change of his tone, she shifted her position, the book still used as her shield yet she turned her body in a very minute angle to face him.

But he seemed to be too lost in his lecture to notice she was finally listening.

“You are driven by your instinct. Survival needs. I couldn’t think of anyone much more suited to be in the games. And now you are clueless. Because your innate ability is deemed obsolete. The thing that defines you is rendered useless.”

A pause.

She listened; her finger marking the page she was reading. But she honored the silence. Not breaking it. Plutarch only now noticing her undivided attention, leaned forward, staring straight at her.

“You’ve seen Annie. You know how your mind can trap you.”

_But Annie has her Peeta…. _

“You see all and think of pieces of you scattered amongst Panem. As if you are the only one suffering. As if people take and take from you and now they leave you alone, a dry husk.”

She winced at the description.

“Perhaps it is the truth. We asked too much from someone too soon. We created you and manipulate your existence under the pretense that it is done for the greater good. We achieve so, but at what cost?”

_We win, yet I lose. _

“The world has taken everything possible from you. Cruel? Sure, but why dwell so long in something irreversible? Why not go out and pick up those pieces back and rebuilt. Claimed it back.”

She had been staring at the floor, contemplating the intricate design and wondering how meticulous one must be to achieve such a desired effect. She wondered if such was possible to achieve should she choose to work on herself.

_Could I be as beautiful too? Whole despite the pieces? _

“A new Panem, a new you.” A smirk bloomed on her lips, hearing it from him made it sound even more ridiculous.

“From what Haymitch told me, from what I myself have observed, you are never a child, especially in the old Panem. I am not questioning the validity of your experiences, I’m saying that, in this new Panem, you are allowed to act your own age. You are what? 16? 17?”

“18.” She was not entirely sure. Effie would have known better. She wondered why she never dropped by.

“Beautiful age. Young still, in a world now with endless possibilities.”

“14 is even younger,” Katniss interjected.

To which he responded with a long sigh, perhaps now discovering the why that explained her state. Or perhaps trying to put a face to the name she doubted he knew.

“I am sorry. I didn’t know. Towards the end of the war, people whom she believed would gravitate towards you were shut off from communication.”

_…. gravitate towards me…_

_But he wants an out. _

_He left. _

And the buzz returned tenfold louder, yet Plutarch’s parting message slithered its way in, burrowing itself deep, so deep that it echoed through her whole being over and over again. 

_‘There’s a fire in you Katniss. And for your own good, I hope you will find a spark to begin anew.’_

\------

She packed again that night.

He was right, she too hoped that there were at least embers left within her to begin again.

_He_ was right, she still had her mother.

Last she heard her mother had settled down in a hospital somewhere, trading her soul to save families, when she couldn’t save her own. 

Plutarch told her the where.

And off she went to District 4.

\-----

**District 4**

In the midst of the heat that reminded her of the second arena, she realized she was not packed for this kind of weather. Hot and humid, covered up with a turtleneck, her leather jacket she had stuffed into her backpack, she was almost certain she heard Haymitch’s voice calling her stupid. Wading her way through the busy market in which she herself was not sure how she got there in the first place, she pulled the constricting neckline to give room for her skin to breathe. She kept her head down ever since she left the train station but to her own surprise, nobody gave her a second glance. It eased her this newly discovered fact, a sense of triumph of being nobody coursed through her, so much so that she began actively looking for a place that sold slightly forgiving clothes for the weather. The hustle and bustle of the market warmed her but in a good way, especially when she caught a whiff of the fruity sweetness permeating the air as she dove into the sea of people.

She passed a stall that sold drinks and halted her steps. Her throat begged for coldness to sweep through and sure enough, that container labeled sugarcane juice was beckoning her closer.

“How much?” she asked the man behind the counter. He glanced at her just a second; hands already stretched to prepare the drink before his expression switched to recognition.

But it was not his lips that spilled her name.

“Katniss?” a familiar voice. An ally.

She followed the man’s gaze and turned.

“Finnick?” It was him, but also not him that she was familiar with. His beard wild and his hair was long, wavy, framing his elongated face – _he’s too thin!_ almost touching the nape of his neck. But the one difference that struck her the most was how lifeless his eyes were.

It reminded her of her own reflection she stared at each morning.

“Finnick!” she breathed his name again. Despite the changes, she could not deny the small joy she could recognize reflected on his face from seeing her. He offered her a smile and pulled her into an unexpected embrace. It lasted only for a moment, but Katniss found comfort in it.

A rare offering. 

“What are you doing here! Are you alone? Where’s Peeta?” his voice rushed, elated but he had now turned to complete her purchase. Drinks changed hands and he shoved a large cup towards her.

Katniss was still flustered, not knowing how to answer him so she simply blurted out, “Where’s Annie?”

The way his expression switched almost instantaneously made her felt as if she had sinned. Few passers-by that seemed to have been listening sent her a dirty look that lasted a full second before they smiled sheepishly, recognizing her.

_Odd._

Finnick disregarded her inquiry and instead observed her choice of clothing with an audible tsk before he took a long slurp from his drink. She rolled her eyes, downing almost the entire content of her cup - now he acted like the Finnink she had first met before he was turned an ally. Without thinking, she pushed her sleeves further up, above her elbows to allow heat trapped above her skin to escape. 

His lips pursed into a thin line and Katniss wondered _what now?_

“Are you running away?”

“I…no.” Finnick had seen her at her worst, and she too had seen him at his worst. Part of her somehow itched to spill everything she had kept to herself, yet she stopped herself. And it seemed Finnick still remembered their time in District 13 too. It was clear as day to him that she was hiding something.

“..maybe.”

He kept quiet.

“…perhaps.”

Finnick tilted his head, an unspoken offer to leave the busy place as the sun rose higher in the sky. She followed him quietly, as he made a stop at a stall that she had been searching for. He picked two tunics and two very airy pants, paid for them despite her attempts to stop him.

“So, Peeta is not with you making this…” his right hand holding the paper bag gestured towards the nothingness between them. “…. not a visit to an old dear friend of yours I assume?”

Katniss winced visibly. She was indeed a lousy friend.

Finnick chuckled heartily, “No worries Katniss. We all have demons anchoring us somewhere.”

_True._

She still wondered where Annie was if not with him. Last she saw the two of them they were practically inseparable.

Now far from the busy market, the two walked side by side. Finnick was not one to fill the silence with a forced conversation. And this was familiar, how many walks they had taken with one another restlessly as they waited for Annie and the other.

“I’m looking for my mom.” She realized that she would need help to find her and she would rather ask him instead of strangers.

“She’s at the hospital. Come, I’ll show you the way.”

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading everyone! Thank you for giving this fic a chance.


	6. Out of Reasons

** _KATNISS._ **

She had been walking aimlessly and she only stopped when her feet began to throb from the cumulative steps. She finally lifted her head, mildly surprised that she had somehow arrived at the beach. Taking off her shoes, she sat down, wrenching open her backpack in search of her journal. She flipped the pages, one ripped from the force until she saw a blank page. Rummaging through her backpack yet again, she found a pen and began to scribble furiously.

Thousands of failed attempts until she was satisfied with the string of words she managed to put together.

_Mom, _

_I am sorry it takes me losing so much to even begin to understand what happened to you when you lost father. I am sorry that too much is taken from us and I wonder, with you not here with me, if you blame me each day for it… _

_Katniss._

Staring at her own handwriting, she cursed herself, enraged at her own failure to write those very words back then in the hospital. Not that it mattered. She saw her, not too long after she had arrived after Finnick left, she saw her mother. She was talking to a young couple, the wife visibly pregnant. With a smile on her face, listening to their concern, and responding calmly – as she should be.

She looked very…_fulfilled. _

So, she left. She had scribbled a lousy ‘I am sorry’ on a piece of paper for her mother, simply to make this journey worth the effort but she crumpled it almost immediately, throwing it to the nearest bin.

Katniss closed her eyes as she played the memory over and over, trying to remember the last time she had seen her mother with such an expression etched on her face. That was the smile from before. Way before her father’s death.

She was certain of it.

Her mother had found her calling, she had moved on to a better place. Katniss wanted to be happy for her, but she could only feel the coldness of being forgotten and left behind grabbing her ankles, dragging her to oblivion. Her hands jumped to cover her face and she screamed. Loud wailings that were all but swallowed by the crashing waves. Screaming to her heart content because she knew there were no witnesses.

She screamed her voice raw, until she was spent, until her lungs gave up, until her throat threatened to bleed, yet she allowed not a single tear to escape. She was proud of it, of the fact she had yet shed any tears, not in Twelve, not in Capitol, and certainly not here in Four.

Perhaps it took her an hour, or lesser - it felt forever to her before she stopped. She pulled her legs closer to her chest, arms resting over her knees, her chin propped against the fold. She felt calmer now, and the sudden drop of temperature signaled that the sun was almost done with its work for the day.

As much as she felt anger and betrayal, she knew deep down she had lost her mother even before this day. She had lost her immediately after her father’s death.

She would always be her mother, and she would always be a stranger.

The least she could do now was to allow her the freedom of not being tied to a painful reminder.

To set another person free.

She took a long breath, shakily exhaling as if she were breathing the final breath of the dying bond between herself and her mother.

The sun almost set; its colors only remind her of an old exchange.

_Orange? Like Effie’s hair?_

_No. Not that orange. More like a sunset kind of orange. _

She stood up, shaking her head at the memory, patting herself free from the sand, wondering if she had missed the last train.

Even if she had not, where could she go exactly?

…..

** _FINNICK_ **

Despite the freedom from Capitol’s cruelty, there were habits, practices ingrained so deep it would take perhaps generations before they could be altered. One of them being the freedom to roam the beach after five.

Finnick was eager to do so, only returning home when it was completely dark. Being alone was suffocating. The silence was deafening which explained why he spent his days at the busiest part of the district. Despite that, he looked forward to his evening walk. Pushing his bicycle while enjoying the breeze and the splashes of the waves, he noticed how the streetlights began to flicker, offering artificial rays as the sun began its descent.

His mind raised questions, wondering if Katniss would stop by Victor’s Village before she left. Immediately he remembered how he was the one leaving her without goodbye at the hospital.

How could he not? The place reminded him of his loss.

It had been nice to see her. Even when he noticed her way of coping, the marks on her hands were never a good sign. He wondered about the dynamic of Katniss’s relationship with her mother. From what he remembered, she seemed wary around her. He wondered about Peeta. About Katniss and Peeta. But his million thoughts were shattered by a continuous scream coming from the beach. It halted his steps, processing before he pushed his bicycle onto the ground, following the call.

His heartbeats were fast, but his legs move even faster.

Perhaps this time he could save her.

But as he came closer, he did not see the one he wished to save.

It was Katniss.

Slowing down, he was careful to keep a safe distance between them. He could only saw her back and he too sat down, far from her.

He recognized desperation.

So, he waited it out.

Waited until she was done - this had always been the case between them. They took a turn to shatter to pieces in District 13. He failed to see any reason not to adhere to their custom.

Only when she started gathering her things that he let his presence known.

“The next train is tomorrow.”

He could tell that she was startled. If there were still light he was sure her complexion would have been red and he could imagine her mind reeling, wondering how much he had witnessed.

He offered her the sincerest smile he could muster, “You could stay for the night.”

She would not budge, so he muttered clumsily, “Annie won’t mind.”

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Reading! Thank you for staying.

**Author's Note:**

> I remember wanting so bad to write one fanfic on this series. But back then I was so afraid that it will never be good enough that I never even tried. Now, I have found courage to try. it might not be as good but I wouldn't know unless I try isnt it?


End file.
